


first meeting & a flower given

by loserrobin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Pining, Young Love, jaime's embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25130977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserrobin/pseuds/loserrobin
Summary: Concept : Jaime’s days spent with Elia when they were young and betrothed.Setting : Canon verse.Warning : fluff, pining, young love, jaime’s embarrassment.Word Count : 1262.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Oberyn Martell, Jaime Lannister/Elia Martell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	first meeting & a flower given

**Author's Note:**

> This is the combination of two prompt ideas I was given : first meetings and Jaime giving Elia a flower.
> 
> This is possibly non-canon compliant based on the fact that the first interaction between these four is AFTER Joanna's death and the birth of Tyrion based on the books recounting. Joanna and the mother of Oberyn, Doran and Elia probably met in court at King's Landing or corresponded over letters for the original betrothal agreement. My hc is that the Martells visited Casterly Rock on at least one occasion, most likely due to Elia's health and Oberyn being fostered somewhere else later.
> 
> This is mainly Jaime/Elia focused.

Jaime doesn’t care for this. He’s young and his clothes make him itchy in the summer heat, cicadas screeching in the mid-afternoon light. The castle’s garden trees give a sweet reprieve from the harsh sun, the ridges of the wood scratching along his skin where his palms rest. His mother will have a fit if he tries to scale the tree, ruining the pristine clothes she made him wear.

Dornish guests have come for a visit and Joanna Lannister, the ever dutiful wife and strong hand of House Lannister as its Lady, intends to make the most proper welcome greeting to Casterly Rock. Cersei poses next to her mother with a girlish grace she has been practicing, green dress shining when a cloud shifts and light passes over her. He’s tempted to join her, to take turns whispering in each other’s ears as they impatiently wait.

“Quickly, Jaime!” His mother urges him with a beckoning hand, her blonde hair falling elegantly across her shoulders, her only sign of discomfort the reddening of her cheeks and the sweat beginning to form on her brow.

He grudgingly listens, standing on her other side as horses and people pass through the gates. One of the horsemen is a boy, laughter following him as he trots closer, long dark hair settling against him as he comes to a stop. He dismounts, the first to step forward and bow as others come through, a carriage unfolding a woman and a girl.

“Oberyn,” chastises the woman, disapproving stare shrinking the new boy’s confidence.

“I arrived first,” he simply stated. “I told you the horses were faster.”

With a shake of the head, curls bouncing with the movement, the mother steps forward, squeezing her son’s shoulder as she introduces themselves, bowing with a synchronized grace that seems practiced and polished. When his mother introduces him, he moves to bow in turn, eyes flickering from the boy to the girl and hesitates when he catches a curious gaze.

Ringlets of brown curls catch his eye, framing the young face, smiling eyes watching him in amusement. Her dress is thin silk, a dark shade of purple that reminds Jaime of plums, gold stitching at the hem and collar. She is frail, a wisp of a girl that has no business travelling so far when it looks like the wind could blow her over. But Jaime is—

“Don’t stare,” his mother is whispering in reproach and exasperation, as if she’s just caught her son being rude, staring at a foreigner in a gaping manner.

In truth he is mesmerized.

\---

Oberyn is a likeable boy, quick to laughter and adventure with a courage Jaime both admires, and envies, and tries to replicate. They are evenly matched on the training ground, but when they tousle in the grass, Oberyn is fast-footed and dances out of reach the moment Jaime thinks he has the upper-hand. It’s been a fun couple of days playing and running throughout Casterly Rock, climbing the trees when their mothers aren’t looking, using sticks to pretend they are knights on a quest, chasing each other.

Most of the time he wasn’t with Oberyn on his own, Cersei and Elia are there.

Cersei flutters her golden lashes every time Oberyn presses a kiss to her hand, charming her with smiles and jokes that sometimes make her snort, immediately embarrassed by the inelegance. Elia was polite and quiet, her smiles a demure sort that she flashed at Jaime often ; Jaime has held and kissed her hand once, and hadn’t dared to do so again. Oberyn could make their sisters laugh with ease and Jaime couldn’t help his stares, even when he was scolded by his mother time and time again.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Cersei asked one sultry hot evening. She wasn’t looking at any of them, hadn’t addressed anyone specifically, but Jaime suspected the question was for Oberyn more than anyone else.

“I think you’re more than pretty,” Elia complimented because she was kind enough to indulge. “You’re as pretty as your mother, as pretty as all these flowers.”

Casterly Rock had few variations of flowers because the Lady Joanna preferred only a handful. Among them were the white of Lady’s Lace, and the yellow of Goldenrods, and more predominantly bushes upon bushes of red roses. There were a number of gardens spaced throughout the two leagues of castle, but Jaime preferred the one closest to the kitchens where he could pout for a slice of apple cake and eat it under the shelter of a large tree. Today it wasn’t apple cake, but strawberry pie, shared amongst them with the flowers as their witness.

He can hardly pay attention to their conversation, stuck on the taste of the pie in his mouth, and the way Elia’s lips move, red as the strawberries she’s been tasting, red like the roses surrounding them and the tunic that hides his beating heart.

“You’re prettier than flowers,” blurted out with little regard. Cersei giggles, but he’s still looking at Elia who glances back, bashful.

All the roses in the world couldn’t compare.

\---

Jaime wanders because he cannot find Oberyn or his sister or anyone else, but a few servants. He searches for Elia, trying to be brave, trying to face the swirl of elation and nerves that battle within his chest whenever he thinks about her.

Is this what all those stories his mother would read them talked about? Was he living a fairytale of pining and longing and denying himself?

“Have you seen my brother?” A soft voice startles him, heels jumping from the suddenness. Lips purse, trying to contain laughter, to his dismay. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” defensive, kicking at a pebble on the dirt ground. “I didn’t see your brother and I haven’t seen my sister.”

He peeks at her from under a fringe of blonde hair, watching her tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. She’s seated under a tree, flanked by a rose bush, easily hidden from plain sight. He wants to join her, but he feels intrusive and awkward in asking.

Elia, merciful and kind, invites him.

“You can sit with me,” spoken with a smile that has his chest seizing in fondness. Everything she does is gentle, touches him in a careful way that leaves him feeling warm.

It’s the first time they have been together uninterrupted, talking for hours about anything. He tells her his favorite stories, proud when he teases out a loud laugh, gesturing wildly with his hands as he enacts out scenes. Elia tells him of Dorne, of her older brother waiting for them in Sunspear, of the desert sands and the Dornish plums she loves to eat. She talks about missing her friend, Ashara Dayne, and he distracts her by pulling a rose from one of the bushes and hesitantly putting it in her hair.

“Am I prettier with the flower?” Her eyes sparkled, lips tugged into a half-smile.

“The flower is prettier with you,” honesty pours from his mouth, unable to stop himself now that there are no watchful eyes to tease him other than her own. She turns her head from him shyly and he can’t help leaning in, chasing the flattery he sees cross her face.

He’ll miss her when the week is over, begrudging himself for wasting his time rather than kissing her hand and finding ways to make her laugh. He’s still a boy, tickled by new affection, navigating his wants and needs, and everything inbetween.

And his heart hopes and prays to see her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like this and are interested in my other works, check out my profile and other fics. If you want to talk or ask questions, find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/teslawrites) or [tumblr](https://loserrobin.tumblr.com/).


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